Boys Don't Cry
by Snicker Puff
Summary: Chapter 1: Little Thomas has a bad day at school. Chapter 2: Tom has to take a math class from a man who isn't great at math. Chapter 3: Tom is forced to apologize. Chapter 4: Collins' 18th birthday bash and and unpleasant 'gift'.
1. Boys Don't Cry: Age 5

Thomas' mommy was always waiting at the door for him when he got home from school. The big bus would drop him off at the end of their long driveway and he would skip all the way up it until he reached her and give her a big hug. He loved to see his mommy after school and tell her all about his day. He'd only been in school for a week and a half, but he loved it very much, especially all the books they had that he could read.

But today, Thomas wasn't skipping, he was running, and the usual smile on his face was replaced with tears. He was glad his mommy was standing there waiting for him, and he bounded up the steps and hurled himself into her arms.

"Thomas?" his mommy asked, concerned at his demeanour. She pulled him back from her enough to look into his face, shocked at the tears and the misery she saw there. Quickly wiping the tears away, she asked, "What is it, Thomas? What happened?"

Thomas looked up at his mommy, all of his sadness pouring out of him. "Am I a bad boy, mommy?"

Mary Collins was stunned by her son's question. Bad was the last word she would ever use to describe her son. He was the most caring, empathetic child she had ever known, almost too empathetic, often internalizing someone else's pain and becoming so distraught as to make himself sick. He would help anyone and everyone, regardless of whether he was asked, and was always respectful. No, Thomas Collins was not a bad boy.

"Of course not, Thomas," she assured him, as she continued to wipe the tears off his round cheeks, "Why would you think something like that?"

"Miss Jacobs said I'm a bad boy," he sobbed, burying his face into his mommy's dress.

For a long moment, Mary didn't know how to respond, and simply stroked Thomas' hair, hugging him tight. After a moment, she regained herself and asked, "Why would she say that, Thomas?"

Still pressing his face into her dress, Thomas began to tell his mommy what had happened, through his tears and choked sobs.

"There's a new boy in my class," he began, sniffling, "An' he talks funny. The other kids were makin' fun of him. They called him a re-… a re-… a re-"

Thomas's breath hitched around the word and he couldn't get it out. Mary simply nodded, saying, "I know, Thomas," stroking his back and urging him to continue.

"They were bein' mean to him, mommy," he cried, "An' I tol' 'em to stop, but they wouldn't. They kept doin' it more. An' then… an' then James pushed him down an' they were laughin' at him. He was tryin' to get up an' James was gonna push him again. I didn't wan' him to so I pushed him away. An' James ran an' tol' Miss Jacobs and she made me stand in the corner 'cause I'm a bad boy." Thomas' sobs were reduced to pathetic sniffles as he finished his story, and he looked up at his mommy expectantly. "I was just tryin' to help him mommy. Does that make me a bad boy?"

Mary's heart broke for her son, knowing that if the teacher had only known the truth, Thomas would never have ended up in that situation. She imagined him there, standing in the corner with his back to his classmates, trying to understand what he had done wrong, and it made her stomach twist.

"Oh Thomas," she said softly, pulling him away from her once more to kiss his cheek, "You're not a bad boy, my love. Miss Jacobs didn't know what happened. Did you try to tell her?"

"Uh huh," he replied, miserably, "An' she said boys like me don' tell the truth. What's that mean mommy? What kinda boy am I?"

Mary knew full well what Thomas' teacher had meant, but she was not about to explain _that_ to her five year old son. First thing tomorrow, however, she would march down to that school and-

"Mary! What's going on out there?"

Mary's thoughts were interrupted by the harsh voice of her husband, coming from just inside the door. She cringed, wondering how long he had been watching. Mary loved her husband dearly, but he was a hard disciplinarian, and she knew he wouldn't want to see his son crying, even though he was only five.

"Nothing, Matt," she said softly, holding Thomas close so his father wouldn't see the evidence of his tears, "Thomas had a rough day today, he was just telling me about it." She hoped this would satisfy him and he would just let it be, but she should have known that wasn't the case.

"Come here, Thomas," Matthias commanded, towering over his son as Thomas tried to quell the shaking in his tiny body. He looked up at his father with wide eyes, doing the best he could to keep anymore tears from falling. He knew daddy didn't like that.

"What have I told you, Thomas?" his daddy asked him.

"But daddy," Thomas protested, "The boys were-"

"I don't care what happened!" his daddy snapped, causing Thomas to flinch. "Boys don't cry, Thomas. It doesn't matter what anyone does to you. And you!" he exclaimed, rounding on Thomas' mommy, "Why must you keep coddling him like this? Don't you realize…"

But Thomas didn't hear the rest of what his daddy said to his mommy, for he had already fled to his room. He sat on his bed, chest heaving as he tried to keep from crying.

"Boys don't cry, Thomas," he told the empty room, "Don't be a bad boy. Boys don't cry…"


	2. Math: Age 15

"See, that's where you went wrong. The x needs to be carried here, not there. You won't get the right answer if it's there."

Avery Sanford turned away from the board to look at the boy who had interrupted him yet again. It was nothing new – the lanky, dark-skinned kid was _always_ correcting him, he just seemed to be doing it more often today than usual. This was the fourth time this period, and the class had only been here 20 minutes.

15-year-old Tom Collins looked up at his teacher, his expression innocent and helpful, betraying none of the annoyance he felt at being required to take _advanced_ math from a man who, for all appearances, had never passed basic math! Mr. Sanford was constantly making errors. For a week or two, Collins had let it pass, thinking that maybe the man was rusty after his summer break, though he couldn't understand how that could happen. But soon, it became obvious to him that Mr. Sanford didn't know what he was doing, and the 27 students in his class would not be learning how to do proper math this year.

A month into the school year, Tom began taking it upon himself to gently point out some of the smaller errors to the older man, hoping it would be enough to get him to realize that he was making mistakes, and that he'd be able to find the larger ones on his own. He'd quickly learned that that approach wasn't going to work. Mr. Sanford offered little more than curt thank-yous, accompanied by irritated glares in Tom's direction.

And the errors continued.

They were now two months into school, and things only seemed to be getting worse. No one in the class seemed to be learning anything, and in fact, most of them were failing, due to Mr. Sanford's inability to teach even the more basic algorithms. Tom had had enough. If Mr. Sanford wasn't going to fix the problem on his own, Tom was going to correct every error he saw. The kids around him had to learn somehow.

Today, however, Mr. Sanford had had quite enough. He was sick of this smart-ass kid making him look like an idiot in front of his class and wasn't going to stand for it any longer. Throwing his chalk down roughly onto his desk, ignoring the fact that it bounced off and onto the floor Sanford leaned against his chair, glaring at Tom.

"Get out. I've had enough of you! Office. Now."

Tom's eyes widened. It wasn't that he wasn't used to getting sent to the office, for he'd been there plenty of times for one prank or another. But never had he been sent for _helping_. For a moment, he just stared, thinking it was some kind of joke, but Mr. Sanford's glare never lessened, and, grudgingly, Tom stood and headed out of the room.

Taking his time, Tom meandered through the hallways, finally reaching the office 10 minutes after he'd been sent out. He walked in, smiling at the secretary and taking a seat on one of the chairs next to the principal's door.

"Hi Miss Allan," he called out to her, and the secretary looked up, shaking her head and smiling patiently at the boy she'd gotten to know so well since he'd started at the school. She liked Tom. Sure, he got into a lot of trouble, but he wasn't a _bad_ kid. He had his ideas and his ideals, and the trouble he got into was from trying to stand up for them. But Cassie knew that he was a good kid. She'd seen him help out younger students, new students, befriend kids who were being bullied. Others may not have recognized it, but there was more than one side to this boy.

"Hello Tom," she said, "What are you here for this time?"

Tom chuckled. "Helping the teacher," he told her. Of course, that wasn't the _whole_ truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

"Come now, Tom. Do you really expect me to believe that? No one's going to send you down here for helping."

Tom shrugged. "They would if my 'helping' involved correcting their errors."

At that, Cassie had to laugh. She knew immediately who Tom was talking about, without needing to look at his schedule. It was no secret among the staff that Avery Sanford wasn't cut out to be a math teacher. The only one who seemed oblivious to that fact was Avery himself. Cassie shook her head, picking up the phone to let Principal Dunn know he had a student waiting for him. When he heard who it was, Dunn let out a long sigh, and Cassie couldn't help but roll her eyes. She hung up and looked over at Tom.

"He'll be out in a few minutes, Tom," she told him, and he offered her a pleasant smile.

Fifteen minutes later, Principal Dunn still hadn't come out of his office, and Tom was beginning to fidget in his seat, bored out of his mind. Miss Allan was nice to talk to, but she was also a busy woman. The phones never seemed to stop ringing, and teachers and students were constantly coming in and asking her to do things for them. Tom didn't know how much she got paid, but he was sure it wasn't enough for what she did.

"Tom," Miss Allan called out to him, startling Tom from the trance he had fallen into, "I need to go make some copies of this. I'll only be gone five minutes. Try to stay out of trouble, okay? Mr. Dunn will be out soon."

Tom only smiled at her, and watched her leave. As soon as he was alone, his eyes wandered back to her desk, looking at the computer database she had left running, his mind already working on what he could do. It didn't take long to figure out, and Tom quickly snuck over to her desk, seating himself in her chair.

Computers had always fascinated Tom, and since they were beginning to become more common, he'd begun tinkering with them. They were pretty simple things, really, and he thought that they could be used for so much more than they were right now. This particular computer wasn't much more than a list of students, classes and grades. Since Miss Allan had already been using it, Tom didn't even have to decode a password. He was a bit disappointed at that, for he loved the challenge of trying to crack that puzzle, but at least he wouldn't have to waste time with it. Miss Allan wouldn't be gone long, and he had no idea when Mr. Dunn would see fit to come out and talk to him. He had to be quick.

Tom called up his teacher's name and accessed the advanced math class. After a moment, a list of student names followed by their grades scrolled onto the little screen. Tom's eyes widened. He'd known he had the highest mark in the class, but what he wasn't prepared for was just how many of his classmates were failing. Besides himself, only six other students were passing the course! Three of them just barely. Tom shook his head, his frustration and anger toward Sanford surfacing once more.

With a few quick, decisive taps, Tom had changed every mark in the class to an A. It wasn't right that all those kids should fail because their teacher was an idiot.

When Miss Avery returned, Tom was sitting in the chair next to the principal's door, staring off into space. Exactly as she had left him. She smiled to herself. Tom really was a decent kid.


	3. An Apology: Age 15

"Mr. Sanford, my son has something he'd like to say to you."

Matthias Collins was an imposing, intimidating man under any circumstances, and Avery Sanford looked up, startled at the intrusion, chalk hovering an inch away from the board where a half-finished equation was written. His eyes widened as he saw the man standing there, one large hand firmly gripping Tom Collins' upper arm in a way that was making the boy wince.

Tom had been suspended three days before for changing the grades of his classmates in Mr. Sanford's math class on the school computer, and wasn't due back to school until the next day, but his father had dragged him in early and brought him here, in front of his own class, to apologize for what he had done. Tom looked at the floor miserably, unable to meet anyone's eyes, already feeling humiliated by what he was about to do. Normally, he would never, ever, apologize for something like this, but he had already felt his father's wrath and didn't want to experience it again.

"Yes, Tom?" he heard Mr. Sanford say, and looked up to see his teacher smirking at him, as if he, too, knew what Tom was going to do, and how much it bothered him. His teacher seemed delighted by it. Tom's eyes narrowed, and he said nothing, unable to do so with his teacher looking at him that way. But his father's grip tightened on his already bruised arm and he whimpered softly, looking back up at his teacher and gritting his teeth.

"I'm sorry for changing the grades on the computer," he told him, flushing a bright red as he heard a few snickers from his classmates. Sanford's grin only grew, causing the anger to boil in him.

"_And_," his father growled, gripping his arm still tighter and shaking him slightly. Tom cringed, but refused to let any further sound of discomfort spill from him.

"And I'm sorry for correcting you in front of the class."

More laughter was heard, and Tom could feel the tears burning in his eyes, but forced them back. He was _not_ going to cry. Not on top of everything else.

Avery Sanford grinned. The most self-satisfied smile Tom had ever seen and he averted his eyes, scowling down at the floor. He could not believe this was happening. His hatred for his father grew with each passing moment and he wanted nothing more than to get out of here.

"Very well," Sanford replied, "I accept your apology. And I expect there will be no more interruptions during class from now on."

Tom said nothing, but he didn't need to. His father said it for him.

"Don't worry, Mr. Sanford," he said, giving Tom's arm another squeeze, "He'll behave." Matthias gave his son a meaningful glare, one that Tom was all too familiar with, and the boy nodded, unable to do anything else. With that, Matthias turned on his heel and headed out of the classroom. Tom had no choice but to follow as he was dragged along by the arm, and he could hear the laughter echoing through the hallway as they made their way out of the school.


	4. A Party: Age 18

Tom Collins was in trouble. Not the kind of trouble that was dished out by his father, or the teachers at school. He was in _trouble_. And for once in his life, he didn't know how to get out of it.

It was Collins' 18th birthday, and his friends from the football team had thrown a huge party for him. He was the first on the team to turn 18, and they wanted to make a big deal about it. Evan had gotten his older brother to supply them with enough beer to last them a week, and now the party was in full swing. Everyone was a little tipsy, including Collins, the music was loud and the couples were dancing.

If Collins were to admit it to himself, he was actually having a good time. The football team wasn't his favourite group of people – he'd only joined it because his father had forced him. Luckily, he happened to be good at it, and had quickly gained the respect of the other guys on the team.

And yet, he knew what was coming next. No one had specifically told him, but he'd heard rumblings and was smart enough to put it all together and realize that they had all chipped in to pay for a stripper for him. The thought made Collins squirm, and not with excitement or anticipation. He knew how he would be expected to react, and he also knew he wouldn't.

Collins had known for a long time that he didn't like girls the way he liked guys, but had never told anyone. He knew how they'd react; had seen the guys make jokes and tease each other in the locker room. They'd never stand for keeping Collins on the team if he told them. Sometimes, Collins wondered if that was such a bad thing – he didn't want to be on the team anyway, and nothing he did could convince his father to let him quit. He was too good and his father loved to tell his military buddies all about it. But if he was kicked off…

Collins' thoughts were interrupted when Evan shut off the music and began shouting for everyone to be quiet. He swallowed hard. This was it. He hadn't seen anyone arrive recently, certainly not a stripper, and felt a glimmer of hope that maybe he'd been wrong; maybe they hadn't gotten him one.

It quickly became obvious that Collins _was_ wrong, and while that thought should have made him happy, it didn't. It made things worse. Much worse. In fact, listening to Evan explain what was going to happen, Collins actually began to wish they _had_ gotten a stripper.

Andrea Carter was going to dance for him. Andrea Carter, who had slept with pretty much every guy on the football team. There were a few guys she hadn't gotten to yet, rookies that had just started this year. And Collins. Not for lack of trying, though. Andrea had had her sights on Collins for a long time, and he'd managed to deflect her advances until now. But now, he wasn't going to be able to stop this. Everyone was watching, and he had no valid reason to keep this from happening.

_Except that you're gay!_ his mind screamed at him, but he tried to ignore it. He couldn't just go and announce that. Not here, in front of the whole team, and what seemed like half the senior class. He couldn't. Collins could feel himself begin to sweat, eyes darting around nervously, looking desperately for a way out but seeing none. Instead, what he saw was Andrea.

Andrea was dressed in possibly the tightest, shortest skirt Collins had ever seen. It was a light pink and barely covered her ass. Her long legs were accentuated by the ridiculously high heels she wore. Her shirt was little more than a piece of fabric wrapped around her breasts, her toned stomach exposed for all to see. Collins could see how the guys reacted to the outfit, nudging each other and whispering; wolfish, lecherous grins on their faces. And yet it had no effect on him. Quite the opposite: instead of being turned on by it, he was turned off. He tried to hide the expression of distaste that threatened to cross his features; he needed to play the part, needed to get this over with, and instead grinned up at her as she approached him.

If Andrea noticed his conflict, she showed no sign of it. Her smile grew wider and she nodded to Evan to start the music. Collins managed not to flinch as a decidedly raunchy-sounding song began to blast from the speakers. He placed his hands on his thighs, looking up at her, wondering how far she would take this.

Moving closer to Collins, Andrea began to sway her hips slowly to the music. She ran her hands through her hair, then down over her neck to her chest, pressing her breasts together and leaning forward toward Collins. It took everything in his power not to back away from her, to keep that grin plastered on his face, and when she finally stood back up, he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His eyes slid shut briefly and he took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves.

A loud burst of cheering from the guys made him jump, and his eyes flew open in time to see Andrea, bent over at the waist, shaking her ass in his face, peering at him over her shoulder with a suggestive smirk on her face. Her tight skirt had ridden up, exposing her panties, much to the delight of the crowd of teenage boys watching her. Collins looked at them, then back at Andrea, and reached out to run his hand over the soft material of her panties. He knew it was what he was expected to do, and a part of him wished it was what he _wanted_ to do – things would be so much easier for him if he could just feel _that way_ about girls!

Taking Collins' touch as a sign to keep going with her tease, Andrea slipped into Collins' lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. She began kissing his neck, and Collins placed his hands lightly on her waist, fingers just brushing over her ass. He hoped she would take his ragged breathing as a sign that he was excited by what she was doing, and not that he was scared to death.

After kissing his neck for a moment, Andrea began grinding her hips against Collins', making his stomach flip. He closed his eyes again, just wanting this to be over, when suddenly, she stopped. Opening his eyes, he found Andrea's face just inches from his, looking at him curiously. He offered her a weak smile, asking, "Why'd you stop?"

Instead of answering, Andrea placed a hand on his chest, running it slowly downward, until she reached the waistband of his jeans. Collins' breath hitched in his throat when she didn't stop there. Quick as lightning, Andrea's hand moved lower, squeezing his cock. Collins tried to bat it away, but it was too late; Andrea was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and shock, and Collins knew that she knew.

They stared at each other for a long time, neither looking away nor saying a word. Andrea's dance was all but forgotten, and though the music continued to pulse through the room, Collins could barely hear it. He wanted to push Andrea off his lap, to run out of the house and onto the street and never stop. He wanted to get away from here.

"What's the deal?" Evan shouted over the music, breaking the uneasy stare as both of them jerked their heads around to see who had spoken. Evan was looking at Andrea like a lost puppy. Clearly he had been enjoying the show, and the abrupt halt had left him disappointed, wanting more.

Andrea looked back at Collins, her expression changing from confusion to disgust and she practically jumped off his lap, backing away from him and pointing an accusing finger at him.

"He's not even hard!" she announced, loud enough for the whole room to hear, and if it hadn't been for the music still playing, Collins knew the silence would have been deafening. All eyes were on him, some not quite understanding what she meant, others grasping her meaning right away, and Collins shrunk lower in his seat, praying he would disappear. But Andrea wasn't finished yet.

"What are you? A fag?" she demanded, "Can't get it up for a girl?" she sneered at him, eyes hard and scornful.

Collins stood, mouth working to form words, to deny what she was saying, but nothing came out. He looked around the room at his friends, who were all looking at him with expressions of shock or disgust, and he saw no compassion in any of them. He turned and nearly ran toward the door, the need to escape those looks overwhelming him.

Once out of the house, Collins began to run. He ran down the street, houses flying past him on either side, not looking back. He passed his own house, but couldn't stop running. The tears burned and his breath was ragged, but he never looked back.


End file.
